


Five Times Peter Failed to Tell Bruce He's Spider-man and the One Time He Accidentally Didn't

by readbetweenthelions



Category: Amazing Spider-Man (2012), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:39:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readbetweenthelions/pseuds/readbetweenthelions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker is falling very quickly into a relationship with world-famous genius Bruce Banner, but secret identities are secret for a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Peter Failed to Tell Bruce He's Spider-man and the One Time He Accidentally Didn't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessicamiriamdrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/gifts).



> Just a few snapshots of their relationship, by no means the whole thing. Probably won't write more of this specific fic, but I guarantee I'll end up writing more alliterative boyfriends at some point.

The first time Peter sees Bruce while Peter’s not in the suit, he panics a little. What can he really say to Bruce? They’ve worked together loads of times, all the time in fact, practically constantly, but Bruce doesn’t know Peter is Peter and that is _distressing._

Bruce sips something out of a cocktail glass with a little olive, his shoulders and elbows stretching his slightly too-small suit. He looks good in it. I mean, usually when Peter sees him he’s either in his lab clothing or he’s big and green and barely wearing pants.

“Bruce Banner,” Peter says as he walks up to him. He offers him a nervous, maybe a little over-eager, hand – that’s what people do when they’re meeting people for the first time, right? As far as Bruce is concerned, this is the first time. It’s weird, to be meeting someone you’ve met before, and Peter’s heart is racing a little bit.

“Ah, hi,” says Bruce, shifting his cocktail glass to his other hand and shaking Peter’s sweaty hand apprehensively.

“I’m Peter Parker, sir,” Peter says. “I’m – ” _Spider-man. Tell him. Just say, I am Spider-man._ “A big fan of your work.”

“Which work would that be?” Bruce says wryly. _Of course, it makes sense, maybe he gets comments about the Hulk thing all the time,_ Peter frets. 

“I’ve uh, I’ve read all your papers,” Peter gushes. “Um, I just, your work with gamma radiation –”

Bruce nods. “So, you want to talk gamma,” he says. “No, I get it.”

“Well, I mean, we can talk about whatever you want to talk about, I mean it’s – ” Bruce holds up a hand to silence him and takes a sip of his drink. “Sorry.”

“Gamma is fine,” says Bruce. “Wouldn’t have dedicated my life to it if I couldn’t talk to a fellow scholar about it.”

_Fellow scholar,_ Peter thinks, a little dizzy. _You mean fellow Avenger. Fellow superhero. I AM SPIDER-MAN._

“Well, I mean, you’re… great. You’re brilliant. Your work is… I mean, it’s unprecedented.”

“Peter Parker!” says a voice behind Peter. He recognizes it, however tinny it usually is. Tony Stark. “I see you’ve met Bruce,” Tony says, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter glances sideways and catches sight of Tony’s wide grin. Peter wishes he were somewhere else.

“Yes,” Bruce says, “We were just having a conversation about my brilliance.”

“Seems like every conversation turns to that eventually,” Tony says, taking a sip of his drink. “Bruce, there’s someone I’d like you to meet – if you don’t mind, that is, Peter.”

“What? Um, no,” Peter says. _I’m Spider-man,_ he thinks. It’s all he can think. These people have no idea that he sees them every day, he’s saved their lives and they’ve saved his and _he is Spider-man._ “It’s fine with me. I mean it doesn’t really have to be fine with me, but – ”

Tony pats Peter’s shoulder, then motions to Bruce. Bruce nods.

“It was nice meeting you, Peter Parker,” Bruce says.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter says, “Nice meeting you.”

As he watches Tony and Bruce walk away, Peter gets the irresistible urge to vomit and retreats to the restroom.

 

***

 

It’s early. Way too early. Peter Parker is in Bruce Banner’s lab, again, but this time not on superhero business. It’s a legitimate internship – he’s been working towards it for a while now, and he’s finally gotten it. Stark must have put in a good word, or maybe Bruce just really liked him at the party, or something. Anyway, it’s early and Peter rubs his eyes, trying to coax them to stay open.

There’s no one else here. There are really only a few people who work in this lab at any given moment, but none of them are here now, except for –

Peter hears Bruce’s footsteps down the hall. They’re very distinct: light on the heel and heavy on the toe, so the ball of his foot kind of slaps on the tile. He’s looking at papers on a clipboard with Stark Industries printed on the back – everything here has Stark Industries printed on it somewhere, and Peter suspects it’s more for the benefit of Tony’s ego than for anything else. Bruce glances up, sees Peter, and sniffs. He’s clear-eyed and very present – a _morning person._ Morning people baffle Peter.

“Parker, right?” says Bruce, extending a hand to Peter. Bruce is lab-coated, as usual. Peter remembers Bruce’s tuxedo vividly and through a haze of embarrassment as he shakes Bruce’s hand. “If I recall, you wanted to talk gamma. So we’ll talk gamma. Extensively, and probably for your whole internship.”

Peter has seen this lab before, comprehensively. Although usually he’s in a skintight spider-suit when he’s here. “I’ll show you around,” says Bruce, and he can’t know it’s not necessary.

“Have you had a lot of lab experience before?” Bruce asks. “Centrifuge is over there, lead aprons are over there when you need them. This corner is more biology, you know, gamma-resistant cells, et cetera…”

“I’ve had a little experience with labs…” Peter replies, thinking not only of his time in this very lab, with Bruce, but also in the lab where he got these powers in the first place. ‘A little experience’ is definitely understating it, but…

“That’s good,” Bruce says. He’s a little distracted. He has this habit of touching things in the lab. He slips rubber-gloved hands over lab bench tops and along the sides of glass beakers, straightening papers here and there and making sure everything is in its proper place. “You’ll be working primarily in this corner, biology I mean, working with gamma radiation-induced mutations. Do you have any experience with that specifically?”

“I’m – ” _Spider-man. I have experience with genetic mutation because I am Spider-man. I am a mutated spider-person and I work almost every day with a super-soldier and a man with debilitating gamma-related mutation issues and God only knows how many other mutants. I am quite familiar with genetic mutation._ “Familiar with your writings on it, I guess?”

“First thing I suggest you do is a little reading,” Bruce says absently. “Make sure you’re familiar with more than just my work.”

“Uh,” Peter says, “Yeah, definitely.”

“I assume you’re familiar with my, ah,” Bruce continues, “ _Condition._ ”

Peter swallows. _If by familiar you mean I’ve seen you crush entire buildings in seconds flat, then yes, I am familiar._ “Uh… yes,” Peter says, lamely. It’s public knowledge, really. Mild-mannered Bruce Banner is the infamous raging green Hulk. “I’m uh, I’m familiar.” _More than you could ever imagine, big guy._

“Great,” Bruce says. “Because you’ll be working with my own cells.”

Peter’s attraction to Bruce Banner is, at this point, so severe that he doubts his ability to get anything done in this laboratory ever.

 

***

 

_A date,_ Peter thinks, _this is a date. Does he think it’s a date? I think it’s a date. This is not a colleague dinner, this is a date dinner, and this is a DATE._

“Your face looks a little puffy, Peter,” says Bruce, eyebrows knitted as he watches Peter over his menu.

“I’m – ” _Spider-man. My face is swollen because I’ve been fighting villains because I am Spider-man._ “Allergic to shellfish. Had some on accident earlier. It’s fine though.”

“Are you sure? I could take you to the hospital.”

“No, no no no, it’s fine. Um. What are you having?”

“Thinking about seafood something. Clams, maybe.”

Peter laughs dryly, but a little nervously. “You’re teasing, right? About the shellfish thing? Just winding me up?”

“Probably,” Bruce says. His eyes flash with amusement behind the reading glasses. “Your swelling doesn’t exactly look like allergies, but you don’t have to tell me the real reason.”

Bruce is capable of figuring Peter out right now, if he tries. Peter’s blood rushes in his ears and he decides on the spaghetti.

The hum of other muttered conversations and the clink of silverware on plates bubbles around them. “Look, is this a colleagues thing or a dates thing?” Peter begs, the tension too much for him. “It’s killing me, mixed signals, this is ridiculous.”

“I think it’s whatever you think it is,” Bruce says enigmatically. 

_Date date date this is a date,_ says Peter’s brain, stupidly. _How much wine do I need to drink to forget that this is a date and that I am most likely going to spill spaghetti down my shirt?_

Bruce is smiling into his menu and Peter resists the urge to scream and run out of the restaurant in a panic.

 

***

 

There is a knock on his door. Peter Parker is in his spider suit and there is a knock on his door.

“Who is it?” he yells. He’s got to get this off. No one can see him in this!

“It’s Bruce.” Bruce? Bruce! Absolutely not Bruce, Bruce _cannot know._

“I’m – ” _Spider-man. I am Spider-man. I am in my spider suit because I am Spider-man._ “Naked.” 

There is a pause that seems to stretch into eternity, that stretches so long that it goes through time and out the other side. “Maybe,” Bruce says, softly, tentatively, “Maybe I wouldn’t… exactly… mind that.”

“R-really?” Peter stammers. _Shit, I’ve got to get out of this stupid suit._ He struggles out of it so fast that he knocks the mug that holds all his pens off the desk and the mug shatters on the floor. Peter ignores the ceramic shards and the explosion of pens on his floor and shoves the suit into the deepest, darkest recesses of his closet.

“Is everything okay, Peter?” Bruce asks. He must have heard the mug, he can’t have not heard the mug.

“Could you give me one minute?” Peter hollers, running to the bathroom. He rubs the dirt off his face and cleans the cut on his forehead swiftly. He slaps a bandage on it and runs out to the living room, then thinks better of it and sprints back and wraps a towel around his waist.

“Hi,” Peter pants, yanking the door open. Bruce stands there, a little awkward and confused. “Come in?”

“What’s that from?” Bruce asks, eyeing the bandage on Peter’s forehead as he steps inside. “Were you in the shower? Your hair’s not even wet.”

“I was just about to get in,” Peter lies. Well, half-lies. He probably was going to shower soon, but – 

“I just came by to give you this back,” Bruce says, lifting Peter’s jacket out of his bag. “You left it in my car. You know, from last time.”

“Thank you,” Peter says, taking it from his hands. He glances around the apartment for someplace to put it, and his towel almost slips as he steps over the broken mug to drape the jacket over the chair at his desk.

“Do you want help cleaning that up?” Bruce asks, meaning the mug shards. He and Peter crouch down at the same time, and Peter swallows hard as their hands bump reaching for the same shard. Peter grabs most of the pieces swiftly and scoops up the smaller bits, then deposits them in the trash. Bruce stands and does the same.

There is silence for a moment, while the two of them look alternately at each other and away.

“Did you um,” Peter stammers, feeling the tension strain his brain to breaking point. He adjusts the towel nervously. “Did you mean what you said? About the… about not minding, seeing me naked?”

Bruce blushes. It’s odd, seeing him change to a color that’s not green. Odd but endearing. “I – well, this is… not exactly professional, but – but yes, I think that… it wouldn’t be… bad, at all, really. I mean – ”

Peter bubbles with nervous laughter. “You sound like me,” he giggles, absurdly. “You sound like me because _you’re_ nervous for once. What was that about professionalism?”

“Well, I mean, you’re my _intern_ ,” Bruce says. His feet shuffle a little and he kicks a left-over mug shard on accident. “I shouldn’t have taken you on one date, let alone two, and I definitely shouldn’t be here when you’re, you know, not really… wearing… anything, and well…”

Peter laughs. The situation is ridiculous. Peter in his towel with the suit stuffed in the back of his closet is ridiculous, Bruce blushing and making odd nervous movements with his hands is ridiculous, everything is ridiculous and Peter laughs so that he doesn’t cry. 

“Come here,” Peter says, and he grabs Bruce by the shoulders and kisses him.

“Oh,” says Bruce into Peter’s mouth. More surprised than anything else – Peter can’t tell if that’s a good sign or a bad one. “Oh.”

One of Bruce’s hands slips its way up Peter’s arm and across his shoulder to hold on the back of Peter’s neck and the other drops to Peter’s waist. Peter knots a hand in Bruce’s hair, feeling the kinks and waves under his fingers. Peter has felt this brewing for a long time – all that work in the lab, and the dates, and Peter thinks of Bruce in his tuxedo that night and suddenly everything is very _real._

And then it isn’t.

“I think – ” says Bruce, prying away a little, “That maybe we – shouldn’t. I mean this is fine, maybe, but we shouldn’t really…”

“Do you mean sex?” Peter blurts. His lips are still slick with saliva – his, Bruce’s, it’s hard to tell at this point. “I wasn’t really meaning – I don’t think – I don’t think we should either,” Peter finishes lamely. He feels Bruce’s palms hot on his bare skin and suddenly it’s weird.

“Right,” Bruce says. He lets go, maybe a bit too abruptly and maybe much before Peter wanted him to. “I think I’ll – I’ll go, then…”

“No,” Peter says hurriedly. Bruce gives him a look and Peter adds, “I’ll put clothes on, I promise.”

 

***

 

“Stamina,” says Bruce. “You’ve got a lot of stamina. I’d chock it up to youth, but…” Bruce trails lazy kisses from Peter’s jaw to his collarbone, and Peter shivers a little. 

“I’m – ” _Spider-man. I am Spider-man. I am very aerobically fit because I spend my time swinging through the air between buildings suspended by a web of my own making._ “I’m in love with you. I think I’m a little bit in love with you.”

Bruce is silent for a moment, his breath hot on Peter’s chest. “I think,” he says slowly, “That I might be a little bit in love with you, too.”

Peter leans his face down into Bruce’s hair and he can feel Bruce’s big broad hands on his skin, and it’s wonderful. The hair on Peter’s body stands up a little, not because it’s cold, but because Bruce is trailing his fingertips lightly over Peter’s skin and Peter presses closer to Bruce and it’s the oddest hot-and-cold feeling of pleasure. “I’m really glad you got over that whole, ‘inappropriate relationship with my intern’ thing,” Peter mutters, “Because this is great. You are great.”

Bruce sniffs. The spaces where their bodies are touching are hot and sticky with half-dried sweat. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he responds. Peter kisses him again, and Bruce chuckles – Peter loves it when he does that, a low rumble and bubble of laughter, just amused enough for sound but not overcome by it. 

They pull apart slowly, reluctantly, and bit-by-bit. Sunlight filters in below the blinds and it lights Bruce’s dark-tanned skin.

“Another round?” Peter suggests. Bruce grins.

 

***

 

Feeling the dull ache in his elbow radiating through his arm, Peter clambers in through his apartment window. He doesn’t see that salt-and-pepper head of hair until it’s too late.

“What are you doing here?” Peter says, perhaps a bit too aggressively. “How did you get in?”

“Peter asked me to meet him here,” says Bruce defensively. “I have a key. What are you doing here?”

“Uh,” Peter says. What am I doing in my apartment? “Um, Parker designs my tech. I was just – dropping by.”

“Through the window? Have to keep in character, don’t you? Well, Peter isn’t here,” Bruce says. He leans back in the chair.

“I can see that,” says Peter. Shit. How is he going to get out of this? Leave and come back? Maybe. “Well. In that case, I’ll be leaving. Nice seeing you, big guy.”

“Right.” Bruce keeps an eye on Peter, on Spider-man, the whole time. Peter doesn’t think he bought that whole ‘Parker designs my tech’ thing. It sounds hollow as it replays in Peter’s mind. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon enough.” _He knows,_ hisses a voice deep in Peter’s mind, _he knowsssss._

Peter slips back out of the window, heart pounding in his ears. This is what he gets for being late, he guesses. He should have known. Bruce is punctual to a fault. Six-thirty means six-thirty, no matter what. Peter swings around the block and puts his street clothes back on, then sprints back to his apartment building.

Peter sweeps through his front door, only a few minutes later. “Hi,” he says, kissing Bruce swiftly at the corner of his mouth, “Sorry I was late, traffic, you know how that is…”

“Traffic, yes,” Bruce mutters. He smiles, but Peter can see a puzzle being solved in that fantastic brain of his. _The_ puzzle, without a doubt. “I started dinner. Hope that’s okay.”

“Absolutely,” Peter says. He tosses his bag into his room, feeling the suit’s presence like a fire, one he’s desperate to put out but knows he can’t stop. Peter squeezes his eyes shut while his back is to Bruce and hopes, wishes, _prays_ for this all to go away.

Peter turns and sits next to Bruce at the table. He grins at Bruce in what he hopes is a disarming fashion. _I’m not Spiderman!_ he hopes his face says. _I am Peter Parker, and not a spider at all!_

“You know, your voice sounded familiar since I met you,” Bruce says, watching Peter carefully, “And I think I’ve just placed it.”

“You – you have? That’s great, who do I sound like?”

“Spider-man.”

Peter’s heart quickens sickeningly. This is it, this whole stupid secret identity he’s been trying to keep. He _knew_ this would happen someday. “Spider-man? That’s... an interesting choice. How’d you come up with it? I mean – ”

“Peter, he was in here two minutes ago. Is there, I don’t know, something you haven’t… told me?”

Peter knew this was coming. He’d always known. How much could you really hide from someone who was your boss, your teammate, _and_ your boyfriend? He was bound to realize sometime.

“I’m – ” Peter starts nervously. _Spider-man. I am Spider-man. I should tell him that I am Spider-man and then I won’t have to worry about it anymore._ “I’m – I _am_ Spider-man.”

“Well,” Bruce shrugs. “I’m not sure why you didn’t tell me sooner.”

“You’re not – you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad? Don’t you think I’m angry enough about other things?”

“Well…. Probably,” Peter admits. “So, how about it, huh? You want a spider kiss?”

“If that has as many legs as I imagine it does, then no,” Bruce says dryly. Peter laughs, leans over, and kisses Bruce. All that anxiety, for this? Peter probably should have just told him at that party.

“Well, now I know for sure that you’ve seen me all big, green, and angry,” Bruce says, pulling away, “How about you help me make pesto? Which is big and green but not necessarily all that angry.”

“Sounds great,” Peter grins.


End file.
